Undefined
by not-here-leave-a-message
Summary: You're always there. Whether I need you or not. Never asking anything of me, never expecting anything from me. And I wish I could say the same about me to you, but the fact of the matter is...I need that. I need you. We both know it, but I can't give you what I think you want. But then you want nothing, and I can't give you that. So I give what I can. Madniss. One-shot.


**Note: **_Why hello there! I thank you for clicking on this fic. If you're here you probably ship Madniss/Underdeen and you're awesome. Even if you don't and you're just curious, you're awesome. Basically, I knocked this out literally late last night/early this morning, because one day maybe three days ago I made the mistake of clicking the "Katniss E." and "Madge U." characters together for one story. And boom, I just...started loving them together. It's so...perfectly plausibly palpably possible. _

_That being said I can't remember when I actually finished reading THG trilogy, but it was a while ago. If there are any mistakes you can message me about them because I was too lazy to go search the books (blasphemy, I know! I'm sorry! If I had gotten up I don't know if you would be seeing this fic now, because I don't know if I would have been able to finish it!)_

_I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes/story inconsistencies, I usually let these things go for weeks before I publish them, just so that when I edit, I do so with a fresh eye, but this one wants out, so I hope you all enjoy it! :)_

**Author's Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, or the characters, any of the songs/lyrics in the books, and anything else therein the series, etc. I'm a lowly college student, please don't sue! I just had to get it out.**

**...**

There are hills in District 12 that are not part of the woods. Just uninhabited hills, and miles beneath them, bustling coal mines. There are warning fences and signs all over the hills, nobody is supposed to go on them, just in case, but the bustling mine underneath the farthest eastern hills was silenced long ago in a collapse. The signs were taken down. Nobody really goes out there, but Katniss doesn't trust taking her outside of the fence, and she isn't one to complain. They keep their distance, Madge's eyes on Katniss' ever-swinging braid, a long, single, solid line between her shoulders. It's not that they can't be seen together, but Madge knows, just knows, that Katniss needs the distance, and she doesn't mind giving it.

There are small paths that cut out to it from the few kids who know where to step and how to get there, because the spot is rather beautiful, covered in yellow dandelions and daffodils and lush green clovers in the summer. With the last few days of the season, when Katniss had grabbed her hand, she followed. She learned long ago that talking wasn't something Katniss was good at. Her only language was body language, and she wasn't terribly fluent. But with some schooling, Madge figured it out. Figured out that Katniss didn't need words. That words could never be enough for the girl whose father died, whose family fell apart. Who needed to feed two hungry mouths instead of filling in her homework answers. Katniss wasn't one for words because they meant very little to her, and even less in abundance. Even before the accident, talking wasn't a strong point. But laughter and song were. She was bright back then, "talkative" by Everdeen standards, and positively…radiant, especially when she was with her father. Still, most lunches were filled with silence or talks about the woods. About bravery. Most of them were filled with Madge listening, trying to understand the Seam from her standing, and Katniss never once truly judging.

The light was gone when her father left. The talking stopped. Katniss left. But Madge didn't make a big deal of it. Sat in her silence at lunch with Katniss for as long as the girl remained in school, quiet and mute. Angry, hurt, devastated, sickened. The emotions played on her face and were louder than her words could have been. Madge stopped by at Katniss' house when she had a feeling she needed to. Sometimes Katniss wasn't even there, but she would sit nearby and wait. Sometimes she would be gone for hours and Madge would go home. Katniss was never the wiser, her mom positively zombified.

But of course, Madge had experience with that.

One day, as Madge walked out of school and Katniss picked up her sister, she was beckoned over by a simple look. Because she knew, and on some deep level, she understood Katniss' minimal communication. She pretty much had to deal with it at home too.

Oh sure, her dad tried, but eventually he gave up when she didn't say much of anything back. And between her mother, many of the people of the seam, and Katniss, she was nothing short of an expert in body language and intuition.

So a nod from Katniss meant a lot more than anyone might have guessed. Madge had smiled, small, almost mutable, and a light flickered in Katniss' eyes. One that was thankful she didn't need to be anything less than what she was, and didn't need to say anything more than she needed to.

Madge followed them home that day, when Katniss dropped off Prim and instructed her to milk her goat and brush her cat. They would be back soon.

And off they went. Down winding paths. Around stones peeking out of the ground. Madge didn't ask where they were going, and Katniss didn't offer. That was the first day Madge learned of the hills.

Ever since, at random intervals, they met way out in those abandoned slopes. Like today, rounding behind one of the still-guarded ascent paths. Madge can feel the unease rolling off of Katniss. Can feel the girl's prickly edge, saw the pained look in the girl's eyes when she had grabbed her and started walking. She didn't know why. She didn't need to. Doesn't need to. As soon as they disappear, are out of the sight of the Seam, the town, even the furthest reaches of the abandoned and crumbling buildings, Madge picks up her pace, coming in step with her counterpart and then slowing slightly, a half a pace behind.

She doesn't even bother to look. To note the position of the signs, to figure out where they are in relation to where they usually were. It doesn't really matter, she can feel the need, from herself or Katniss, she isn't sure. But that hardly matters.

It's effortless as she slips her right hand into her counterpart's left, making the girl jump slightly at the unexpected contact. Madge smiles to herself, to the ground before her, purposefully avoiding the curious eyes she knows are on her. She doesn't need to look away for long, Katniss gently squeezing her hand, and Madge gently entwining their fingers.

Comfort. She can feel a gentle ease enter Katniss' bones, can feel it working through her muscles as her hand becomes limp, can feel it creeping up her arm, and she looks up at her friend's profile just in time to watch her clenched jaw twitch and relax.

She could pull her hand out, but with another small smile, she doesn't, and they continue in silence, hands still loosely together.

The hill comes into view and they trudge up it, with Katniss falling first when they reach the top and Madge following, hands finally disconnecting. The girl with the dark braid lands gracefully, legs folded, and Madge lands with a slight "oomf" and resituates herself, curling her legs beneath her. The short, dead grass digs into her skin but is cushioned by the green grass and gaggle of flowers around them. They sit in silence, feeling the heat of the sun. Madge can feel the tension in the air, can see out of the corner of her eye Katniss working her jaw, the tightness and weariness back in her muscles. They're taut once again and all Madge can do is sigh, looking down and away to her left, pulling at the grass. She knows Katniss wants to say something but doesn't push.

Ultimately, instead of speaking her mind, Katniss falls back onto the bed of earth beneath them, unfolding her legs and stretching them out.

Madge doesn't bother looking at her, instead trains her eyes out over the hills, abandoned. Down the hill behind them is the electrical fence, not on today, from lack of low hum that Katniss had trained her to hear. Beyond it, the trees start up, leading to thick forest. Ahead of them are the quiet hills, and just beyond them she can see the trees that mark the inhabited part of District 12. They're far, but not far enough.

She jumps and turns to Katniss, startled, when she feels the girl's warm and calloused hand grab her own. Her eyes dart to her friend's, but her grey eyes are on their interlocking fingers. Without further questioning, Madge lays back onto the ground as well, squinting in the late afternoon summer sun. The sky is clear and she's left alone with her thoughts, nothing but the feeling of Katniss' fingers gently playing with her own keeping her grounded and awake. She turns to look at them before shutting her eyes and letting the warmth bath her, crawling over her skin and making it prickle.

She's on the edge of sleep when she realizes the finger fiddling has stopped and she shivers, becoming aware of eyes trained on her, the feeling counter-acting the sunbeams. She cracks an eye open to find both of Katniss' trained on her.

She smiles. "What?"

For the first time in a long time, Katniss returns the smile. "Nothing."

As quickly as it came, the smile drops, and Katniss props herself up on her elbows, squinting.

"Thank you," she whispers, and Madge feels her smile drop too.

Katniss sits up fully and pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on them, and Madge knows she's lost her. But it's okay. She'll come back.

Madge lets her head fall back to the earth.

She always comes back.

**...**

She awakens to quiet singing, cracking an eye open in the dim light of the setting sun to see Katniss, much in the same position as before she'd drifted off to sleep, quietly singing to herself as she fastened tiny knots in blades of grass.

_Are you_

_Are you_

_Coming to the tree…_

That's it then. She's thinking about her dad. About her future. She's scared and Madge can't blame her. But more than that, the blonde can tell there is a heavier weight on Katniss' shoulders, a burden that hasn't been shared, or perhaps was increased with sharing. Madge didn't know, and she didn't care to know. If Katniss had wanted to share, she would have. This wasn't about being a good friend. It wasn't about always being there. It is about comfort and connection. Connection so deep and so withstood that words were and are insignificant. Friendship that transcends ideas and thoughts and runs on primal understanding.

To the best of her ability to acknowledge it, that was what it was and is about. And because of that, it doesn't matter. Katniss doesn't necessarily need her. Just knows she can need her if ever she has to.

Soundlessly, Madge sits up and stretches before scooting over to her friend. She sits down in much the same position, looking out over the hills and wordlessly looping her arm through Katniss'. The girl turns and looks at the blonde, who gives her a tiny quirk of her lip. A small glint in those grey eyes is the return, but it is enough.

Madge puts her head on her friend's shoulder, and the darker girl awkwardly turns so that they maintain as much eye contact as possible. Madge's eyes flicker down and without hesitation, she leans up and brushes her lips against the soft ones awaiting her. It's quick, as it always is. She pulls back and looks into grey eyes, and grey eyes stare back, blank, unchanged. That muscle in her jaw works again before relaxing, and she turns and leans down. Their lips brush again, soft. It sticks, quiet kisses, small. Lips on lips.

She breaks it but Madge doesn't mind, instead entwines their fingers while Katniss avoids her gaze and looks out onto the landscape. Madge does the same but once again leans her head on that sturdy, but oh so frail, shoulder.

Comfort in the setting sun.

**...**

It happened every once in a while. It had happened before. In all honesty, Madge was the one who instigated it, only one who could sense that she needed it. In the small room Katniss shared with her sister, who had gone to spend the night curled into their unresponsive mother when Katniss had silently begged Madge to stay. They were close together on her bed, her shaking form wrapped tightly in Madge's arms. There was something so frail about that Katniss, the one rocked by loss and responsibility she had no time to digest before it was upon her. She couldn't stop crying, silent tears broken only by the occasional gasp, and Madge could think of nothing to comfort her friend as she fell apart. She stroked her hair, lumpy and unbraided, unkempt from a harsh day in the Town Hall, where she had kept it all together. And then let it all go in the dark of her room.

She kissed her forehead, a desperate attempt at comfort, bewildered by her inability to feel or infer what Katniss needed, one of only a few times she couldn't read her best friend. Katniss hadn't really responded, her breathing still labored, so Madge gently kissed each eye lid. She didn't feel any loosening of those taut muscles, pulling so hard on her bones Madge had half a mind to think they would break. Didn't feel anything, but realized she didn't need to. Katniss was the only one who needed to feel, the only one who deserved to. With delicate hands she unwound her arms from Katniss and cupped her puffing face, prompting the distraught girl to open her reddened eyes. They looked at each other and in that, Madge tried to pour all the sympathy, all the comfort, all the ideas and thoughts not of a better time, but of time that Katniss would need to rebuild and maintain her sanity…she tried, but she didn't know if she succeeded. She could only hope as Katniss' grey eyes asked her why, pleaded with her for something she could not give them. The one time she could truly do nothing, and in that moment she felt Katniss' loneliness. Worthlessness. How small she truly was. And in that moment, Madge's heart broke. All she needed was assurance. She wasn't alone. She could feel the pang echoing in her chest and in that moment, she did the only thing she could think of. With soft breath and touch she kissed her best friend, tenderly. She felt the muscles relax while they simultaneously tensed, her fingers tightening on Madge's forearms before releasing, the fight leaving them entirely, leaving her entirely.

They didn't continue, and the quiet sobs echoed throughout the night, but every muscle worked itself into relaxation. She could feel it, and she knew.

**...**

The rest of the times were almost always on their hill. Quiet exchanges of words punctuated with a quiet kiss in the sunlight or rainy summer drizzle. Madge wasn't sure what to call it. Love? But it was, or at least felt like, more than that. Deeper.

Maybe it wasn't, Madge wasn't sure. But she knew that, especially with her dad gone, Katniss shut off some part of her, the part that knew how to love. Madge had watched it shut down, and stay down, as time and time again she could not reach her mother, could not snap her out of her haze. People talked all about it. About her misfortune. About how much they sympathized. They wanted to know more. How she was feeling, how she was holding up? Bless them, they all helped. But Madge was sure that besides Prim, Katniss wasn't capable of love any longer. The next best thing was…well, something unnamed, something she watched drain from Katniss as well, to the point where only Madge saw any part of that unnamed slice of Katniss. The neither here nor there.

People tried to be there, but Katniss was as beautiful as she was dumb, to not see how many people supported her, but how many she refused help from. A child of the Seam fended for themselves, she had once said, but never elaborated.

Madge guessed that was why Katniss didn't reject her. Because she never offered any help. She was merely…there, and at times, that was the only thing she needed. Madge never asked for anything, nor expected anything, and she could feel it in the small ways Katniss began to relax when they would hang out: she was coming to actually, deeply care for this one lifeline she called a friend. Her only other one was Gale, and though he was obviously infatuated with her, and though she obviously took comfort in him and their hunting trips, it didn't seem the same. It was human connection, something Katniss desperately needed and something Madge was happy to watch her partake in, once she realized how deep their connection really wasn't. Gale and Katniss were friends.

Her and Katniss? She didn't know. But she didn't care. There didn't need to be a label for it.

Katniss agreed with her silence. There didn't need to be a definition because there was nothing to be defined. They were Katniss and Madge. That was it.

It went further only once, and neither of them ever spoke of it. Not because they were ashamed. Because there was no reason. Everything between them was established, so when Katniss had grabbed her from recess and silently brought her toward the hill, she knew something was severely wrong. She didn't know what. She wouldn't find out for a few days. But she went and, without a word, they'd tumbled down onto the ground, Katniss on top. That muscle in her jaw worked until it stopped, and Katniss had leaned down. Pressed her lips to Madge's. Madge responded, kissing back. Once, twice. Many times, over and over. Slow, no urgency to speak of, the tension draining out from Katniss with each peck, each curious linger until she had lowered herself entirely on top of Madge. When they finally opened their eyes, though Madge could feel no more tension in the girl above her, there it was: turmoil and sadness in her eyes. Need.

Something surged through Madge, and she lifted her hand and cupped Katniss' cheek. The girl didn't lean into it, just continued to stare, and finally Madge lifted herself and reconnected their lips. Slow.

Katniss was the one who grabbed her hand, placing it over her heart, which beat steadily despite their activity. A contrast to Madge's, which erratically cadenced in her chest. It was need, whatever it was, that touch, those kisses. Without a doubt, but Madge knew they were on different levels. Herself knowing what she could offer, provide and be. Katniss: totally unaware of what she needed, instinctually feeling it out with each graze. Madge herself wasn't so sure, but on that day, she could feel no doubt. Just need. Not desperate need, nor want. Not urgent and not pressing. Just…a reassurance. That something, someone, was still solid and there while the rest of her world crumbled around her.

The gentle beating led to gentle strokes, over her heart, reassuringly, though unsure. Solid, but timid. There, but wispy, smoke in a fog. Madge moved her other hand, to try and cup the back of her friend's neck, and the skin on skin seemed to awaken something. It wasn't burning desire, wasn't raw energy.

It was transference, something unknown, unnamed, that could only be felt, and it flowed from her bare fingertips into the girl above her. She slid her hand from Katniss' heart to her shirt, gently dipping her fingers underneath the worn fabric.

There was no noise. No haste. A paced exposure as she drew circles and shapes into the soft but worn skin. A timid return as the girl on top broke the kiss and gently returned the gesture, fingertips ghosting just above the tiny hairs.

Up and up and up the fabric went, until it was tangled in their hair and lost to the earth beside them. Skin on skin, real, there. Solid. Her grey eyes said everything and nothing, and Madge closed her own, melding their lips for another kiss.

They rolled. Whispered sweet nothings into each other's skins, quiet regrets and longings that they couldn't tell even the wind. Every touch was feather-light but grounding, and Madge could feel it as Katniss' muscles relearned how to feel pleasure, relearned how to trust another person with the one thing she still had control over. Relearned how to unwind to the point of melting, how to cry without tears, and how to gasp for one last breath without thinking it was the end of her existence. Knowing that things could be okay, eventually. With time and patience and motion, rhythmic motions that felt like nothing but led to everything: and in return, Katniss bared her everything. Every beautiful thought, action, word, song she had ever been or considered, those things which Madge already knew her to be and so much more, were painted across her body and implanted in her mind as swells of connection and silent, sad euphoria rolled within her.

It was beautiful, and they left with an understanding that whatever it was, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except Katniss was still sane, and able to bare her soul without words or expectations. Free to be herself, free to be in that in-between she so often avoided. Really, Madge couldn't think of anything the strong, broken girl needed more.

**...**

It was Primrose' birthday that brought that on. Their first, and only, time on the hill. The quiet next few weeks-when Katniss coped in ways Madge wasn't sure of, but wouldn't pry about-they did not see each other at all.

They part from the hill and in a blur, they are at the reaping. Sitting. Waiting. If she was near Katniss, she knows she would feel the anxiety and fear falling off of her like rain from a cloud. Charging the air like lightning, lightening her features in the way that only fear and true love for the safety of another can do. She can almost feel it anyway, can only imagine what the girl must be feeling, how she must be dealing with the small possibility that it will be Prim.

That it is Prim.

Everything, Katniss' very existence, had altered to Prim with the death of her father and silence of her mother. Every ounce of love. Every fiber of strength. Every atom of dedication. It is all for Prim, and it is Prim who is called. Who shocks the audience into murmured silence. Who steps out from the crowd.

But it is not Prim who goes. Not Prim who screams, who shouts and runs out and volunteers. Not Prim who all of District 12 raises their three fingers for, who Madge, in stunned but resigned silence, does the same for. Not Primrose Everdeen, who not too long ago, had just turned twelve. Just had her name in the reaping jar once.

It is not Prim who she visits to say good bye to, and a part of her is glad. Because Prim would have no hope of winning. Little, stunning Prim knew nothing of survival. And her death would have been Katniss' end. No anchor, no matter how powerful, could hold her to an Earth on which the last thing she loved no longer existed.

It isn't a fair trade off, and in perhaps her only desperate act their entire friendship, Madge takes the Mockingjay pin, a family Heirloom her father had given to her not a few months before, for her own birthday, and gives it to Katniss. It is a sign, not of rebellion, but of courage. Of persistence, and, most importantly, survival. She has no idea if it's lucky, but she hands it over nonetheless, and with pleading eyes Katniss begs her, one last time, and she obliges as best she can: a kiss on the cheek. She's not sure, but she hopes it's enough as Katniss looks after her while she's dragged from the room and the door is shut before she can think of saying anything else.

She can't say it will be of any comfort. But, at the very least, it will be a connection, with home, with her sister. With Madge.

**...**

It, whatever it is, doesn't stop until the day she dies. She doesn't get jealous when she watches the game, merely feels the deep fear of watching someone she cares for in a barbaric game to the death. Watches as Peeta's story and Katniss' survival instinct swell and blend together, as Katniss' lips touch his and to help heal him. In fact, Madge can't help but smile. Because, if nothing else, she touched Katniss in such a way that the girl started to realize, started to heal and see the truth behind human affection. Even if it is born in a lie.

She can't be sure, of course, but she has a feeling.

And when they return, she knows her place before it is even asked of her in those grey eyes. Their hill became less used, winter blocking their path, and a distance being put between the two. Madge didn't need to know why: she just came by the Victor's Village anyway. Played the piano for her victor, showed her how to play a little bit. For a while, Madge can tell she convinced herself everything would be okay. That it, her Games, is really done. And Madge believes with her, because she needs it.

She watches as friendships crumble around the Girl on Fire, watches her put on a show for the cameras and sees her slowly realize she will be living forever in a lie.

Things only get worse and worse, and Madge only does what The Girl on Fire needs her to. That deep connection, it is without a doubt still there, and they both know it. Both feel it, but with the intrusion of Peeta came a new level, a level between Katniss' connection with Gale and her connection with Madge. Something new entirely.

But Madge doesn't mind in the slightest. She instead steps down and fades into the fold, allowing the budding romance to truly start to take form. It is, without a doubt, what Katniss needs, even if she fought it every step of the way, and continued to fight it; even if it meant giving up her life for a new one. Madge could see it, but, as was typical, Katniss couldn't. That their unlabeled time would never be up, but that everything, everything had changed. She knew, deep down, that Katniss knew it too. But that didn't alter what they had, or what they have.

When Katniss falls into stupor for the Quarter Quell, Madge is there, but her presence never requested.

**...**

The last time the Mayor's daughter sees her is for a brief meeting, sometime between when she was picked and when she was to leave. Madge is walking, steps frail, heart pounding quietly as she strains her hearing for not so peaceful Peacekeepers. She only manages a squeak when she's pushed, hard, against the frail wooden building on her left. Her back hits the building with a light thud, but it's the steely grey eyes that scare her. Katniss has her pinned, her eyes angry but pleading. Steeled, different. Demanding. Hard. Madge doesn't see it as the point of no return, even though she knows she should. Instead she sees them for what they really mean: this, these eyes so unfeeling. This is Katniss. So scared that she must box her emotions, must scream internally. Must hate her own home. Must hate herself. Her memories, her everything, destroying her from the inside out. Everyone had heard of her nightmares. Madge had comforted her a few times in their throes.

Madge doesn't even bother trying to change that expression. That isn't what Katniss needs. Instead, the girl inhales sharply through her nose and kisses her, hard. The kiss isn't inviting. It's not soft. It's desperate, demanding, like her eyes. It's harsh and grueling and Madge can feel herself going weak, can feel herself leaning further into the boards behind her for support as Katniss' teeth gnash on her own, as they dig into Madge's bottom lip.

When she pulls away, her breathing is just as hard, her eyes unchanged. But upon seeing the flushed face Madge knows she has and the desperate expression she knows she's wearing, those beautiful eyes soften. One calloused hand comes up and cups her cheek. And then tears. All of her demons, everything she'd been fighting. There it is.

And that was okay. Madge leaned into the warm touch on her cheek, and just like that it was gone, Katniss backing away and letting her fingers trail Madge's still hot skin. In one fluid motion, she nodded and turned, leaving just as swiftly and silently as she came.

Madge didn't bother moving, watching that ponytail disappear for the last time.

**...**

As the last few minutes of her life blurred by, Madge could only surrender to the memories, let them wash over her and dull the blinding white pain as it seared her flesh and tore her skin, leaving her exposed. Naked. Dead.

She could have left. But somewhere in there, in those deep pits of transcendence of body and mind, she had stolen a bit of Katniss' fire, a pinch of that ember that had always burned so brightly, fiercely, within the hunter. The Victor. She did not come out on top, but she had played a part. A big one. She had kept the Mockingjay safe.

All that she could do was hope and surrender to the blackness as she watched the last of District 12 evacuate into the woods. Surrender into the stiflingly quiet arms of death, not nearly as comforting as those of Katniss.

But they would do.

**...**

_So...there you go! Hope you enjoyed it. I don't know, I always pictured what they would have (if they had it, which in this case, they do) it wouldn't be something defined, because...well, there was no need to define it. With hunger and famine and death all around them, something as simple as a connection wouldn't need a reason, it would just be. Katniss wouldn't look for a label, and it just seemed like Madge then, wouldn't bother either. _

_Then again, we don't hear much from her, eh? Tell me what you thought of it, if it pleases you! It will certainly please me but...I am the author! ;) _


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